


take these stars from my crown

by dollsome



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 10:42:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24349714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollsome/pseuds/dollsome
Summary: Eve and Villanelle talk about scars.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 38
Kudos: 231





	take these stars from my crown

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "Eve/Villanelle + touch, blood, fight" from allegroandoldlace on Tumblr. I have literally no idea how this fulfills that prompt, but this is what happened when I thought about it, so surely that must count for something??
> 
> Spoilers for our most recent episode, 3.06, within. The title is from Jewel's "Jupiter", one of my favorite swoony songs.

Eve traces the scar near the crook of Villanelle’s left arm. They’re in bed together, like they’ve been for the past several hours (days? Who the fuck knows? Who can care about time at a time like this?), naked and exhausted but too enchanted to sleep. The window is open, filling the room with the city’s little night songs. Alarms and sirens and random shouts. Surges of bass from car radios, rising and falling. She wonders what passersby thought was happening in this room. Murder, maybe, or a miracle. Probably just mindblowing sex. She’s still not clear on which one it was.

Once upon a time, at some point in her life, she must have felt this good, but she can’t remember it.

So she examines Villanelle’s arm in the grubby hotel lamplight, because they’re together now and no one has found them yet and she wants to memorize everything before they’re torn apart like always.

It’s still a young scar, and looks angry. Even in her present state of totally sated sleepiness, the sight of it fills Eve with that old, greedy hunger.  _ What happened to you when I wasn’t there to watch? _

“I’m thinking of having it surgically removed,” Villanelle says, wrinkling her nose.

“Aren’t assassins supposed to have a bunch of cool scars?” Eve runs her fingertip over the bumpy line of red flesh.

“Not if you’re a good assassin.”

“Huh. That actually makes a lot of sense. Where did you get it?”

“Nowhere. It’s stupid.”

Eve waits.

“I was trying to do a job. The stupid asshole fought back a little. It bled a lot, and Dasha couldn’t do stitches for shit. Now, I am a monster.”

“I think it’s cute.”

“That is because you’re weird.”

“Is that part of the glamorous assassin life? Routine de-scarrings with the plastic surgeon?”

“No. You don’t get yourself cut open in the first place, dummy.”

“I cut you open. Are you planning to erase that too?”

“Never,” Villanelle says. She presses the fingertips of her right hand to the scar on her side; with her left hand, she caresses Eve’s scar. “These, they say we belong together. You changed me forever, and I changed you. It’s very beautiful, like poetry.”

Eve snorts. Mostly to hide how much she likes the sound of it. She’s never been a romantic. She can’t afford to start now.

“This,” Villanelle adds, pointing to her arm, “this is just ugly. Like a dog bite.”

“I like your ugly dog bite,” Eve declares. “I think it suits you.”

“Because I’m ugly on the inside?” Villanelle says in mocking tones.

“Because you’re real,” Eve says. “Nobody can stay perfect forever. The world will fuck you up. You’ve just got to wear it with dignity.”

“You’re wise,” Villanelle says thoughtfully. “I guess because you’re so much older.”

“Oh, okay. We’re going there.”

“Just kidding. You are the perfect age. You’re the perfect everything.”

“Right? Thank you. You should see me beatbox.”

“You can beatbox?” Villanelle asks, brow furrowing in surprise.

“No,” Eve admits, making a face. “I don’t know why I said that.”

Villanelle laughs, burying her face in her pillow. When she peeks up, she says, “I have never, never been this happy.”

“Me either,” Eve says, meaning it.

“Do you think it will last forever?”

“No.”

“It should.”

“It absolutely fucking should.”

Villanelle stares at her with those fathomless eyes; maybe Eve’s eyes are something to drown in, too. Once, Eve would’ve wondered if Villanelle would smash the bedside lamp and slice Eve’s jugular.  _ You’re mine forever, or you’re dead.  _ Now, though, they just look at each other, and it’s not enough, and it is.

“I changed my mind,” Villanelle says at last, lifting her left arm to examine it. “I like this scar.”

“Good,” Eve says, and loves her.


End file.
